The Court-Martial of Lt Frederick Gotthold Enslin
by SunnyRea
Summary: John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton learn of a court-martial case in the army which sets off concern but can also lead to a new bond with men like them. -historical, lams-


Richard Kidder Meade walks into the aide-de-camp office of General Washington's Valley Forge headquarters from outside with a gust of wind and an exhale of air. John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton, and Robert Hanson Harrison all look up from their writing.

"Would that half way through March should provide some relief to this cold and yet I find none."

Harrison chuckles. "You expect any relief in this war for us, Kidder?"

"Perhaps 'expect' is not the right word."

"Hope for?" Laurens says.

"Wish for?" Hamilton adds.

"Never obtain?"

Meade turns to Tilghman behind him in the doorway. Meade grins and steps aside to allow Tilghman entrance. "Now now, Tilghman," Meade says, "we have had many blessings in our fight. What should you call the support of France?"

Laurens points with his quill. "Do we mean the more aid they could provide?"

"Laurens," Hamilton says with a long-suffering tone.

Laurens only gives him a look. Why should we not wish more support from France?

"I say we are lucky to have them on our side by whatever manner they should offer. What could the British say to that which they did not expect?" Meade says as he steps out of the doorway to hang up his hat and cloak. "But I suppose we should concern ourselves with our daily work here now and not France."

"So, sit down then," Tilghman says as he sits himself across from Hamilton and Laurens.

Meade chuckles as he enters the room, a few sealed letters in his hands. Harrison holds up a ledger to him as he walks in and sits near Harrison.

"Oh!" Meade says, turning in his seat to face the rest of the room almost as soon as he puts the letters and ledger down. "I have heard rather interesting news from Colonel Malcolm's regiment."

"The court-martial?" Harrison asks.

Meade sighs. "You have heard?"

Harrison glances up at him. "It has been proceeding for near two weeks now and Ensign Maxwell's before it."

Meade makes another face. "I had not heard of one before it… and how should you know this?"

Harrison sighs, "Meade, do you not think all regiments must report such proceedings to brigade commanders and thus our General as well?"

"What court-martial?" Laurens asks.

"Ah ha!" Meade says gesturing to Laurens. "I am not alone in my ignorance."

"An Ensign Maxwell was acquitted of his court-martial," Harrison says, "a case of supposed slander he brought which he may have had the right of after all if this current trial is to be decided as expected."

Laurens frowns at the twisting conversation. "Harrison, Meade, might you speak plainly? There are two court-martials one of which is complete but you say there is also another from this same regiment?"

Meade nods his face falling somewhat. "A case of… well, some indecency."

Laurens raises his eyebrows. "You mean…"

"One of the camp women?" Tilghman asks quietly.

"Not at all," Harrison says, his eyes apparently glued to his papers now.

When he does not continue, Meade watching him for a moment, Meade turns to the rest of them with a sigh. "An accusation of attempted sodomy."

Hamilton pulls his head up beside Laurens at that, his pen halting on the page. Laurens stares at Meade, his jaw clenching and he does not look at Hamilton.

"Sodomy?" Tilghman says with some surprise in his tone.

Meade nods. "A Lieutenant Frederick Gotthold Enslin."

Tilghman makes a 'hmm' noise, tapping his quill point on a blotting paper. "Quite a name."

"It is to be resolved today and he should likely be found guilty," Harrison says, "and then we need not dwell on it more, shall we?"

Meade glances at Harrison. "Perhaps not but I should feel sorry for any man subject to court-martial."

"It is certain he is guilty?" Laurens asks. He feels Hamilton's eyes on him now but Laurens still does not look at him.

Harrison glances back at Laurens. "I imagine such accusations are not made without cause."

Tilghman huffs once and shakes his head, turning back to the French translations in front of him. Laurens wants to ask more, ask what happened, what more should Meade know, does this mean something more? His teeth clench tight and his legs have a sudden restless jitter to them. Hamilton puts his hand on Laurens' wrist and Laurens realizes his hands are shaking. He stops them instantly.

Then he looks over to see Captain Walker, aide-de-camp to Baron von Steuben, standing in the doorway with some papers in hand. By the look on his face, he heard as much of the conversation as was needed to learn the subject.

"Captain Walker," Laurens says with only a slight hitch in his voice.

Walker's eyes drag slowly over to Laurens. He stares for a beat then regains himself. "I have brought some communications from Baron Von Steuben's secretary which require translation."

"Ah!" Tilghman says, standing up and crossing to the door. "Thank you, Captain; we shall complete these at once. New training?"

Walker nods his head. "Yes, rifle firing drills and assignment of some new sergeants for such instruction."

"Lovely." Tilghman takes the papers from Walker's hands. "I should soon have some missives from the General which –"

Walker, however, does not wait to hear all of what Tilghman says. He stares at Laurens again, his hands balling into fists then he turns on his heel and rushes toward the door.

"I say…" Tilghman says looking up again at the empty doorway. "Where ever has he gone?"

Laurens stands up suddenly from his seat.

"Laurens," Hamilton hisses quietly, gripping Laurens' forearm with his palm.

"If you should be the Baron's aide then you might need to rush as well," Meade jokes to Tilghman.

"Excuse me," Laurens says, picking up a letter only half finished. "I should need more sealing wax."

"Laurens," Hamilton hisses again but Laurens ignores him.

"Do we not have –" Harrison starts.

"I shall find more," Laurens interrupts him then strides from the room, Hamilton's hand falling away from his arm.

Laurens needs to know where Walker is going, what he plans to do.

Laurens grabs his hat and cloak from the wall then hurries from the house. He jams his hat on his head, nearly dropping the letter as he quickly looks around to find which direction Walker took. It takes him a moment but he finally sees Walker in the distance past the Life Guard's cabins, possibly to McIntosh's brigade. Laurens' hurriedly shoves the letter into his coat pocket and follows Walker. He manages to tie his cloak at his neck just as he nears Walker.

"Captain!" Laurens calls.

Walker glances back at him but does not stop walking.

"Captain, wait a moment!"

"I shall not," Walker snaps as Laurens comes up alongside him.

"Where do you go?" Walker scoffs, his pace quick enough that Laurens finds himself panting to keep up. "Walker, where do you –"

"As though you should not guess," Walker says curtly.

"You over react," Laurens tries to calm Walker's hurry. "This court-martial –"

"Should be something he hear from me, do you not think? Would you have preferred to learn of it thus as that?"

Laurens shuts his mouth for a moment. He knows they have had an understanding. The Baron's proclivities are a not uncommon rumor and the Baron himself somehow saw the same in Laurens when they first met. However, nothing between him and Walker or Baron Von Steuben has been said explicitly yet. This, a court-martial on the grounds of sodomy, this is explicit, this is all but an admission with Walker's reaction and Laurens' chase.

"Captain Walker, yourself and the Baron have no connection at all to this court-martial, so you should not –"

Walker stops suddenly in his tracks, rounding on Laurens. "Do you mean to plead some kind of ignorance? Do you mean to really say we should not find some alarm in this situation?"

Laurens stares at him, the barely controlled panic in the man's features. Laurens knows he should not, he knows that concealment of his nature has always been the right course. However, no man could discount Laurens' boldness or actions in the face of danger.

"I do not plead ignorance or think the matter not a cause for concern but I also do not think you should rise so to this knowledge. Rumor of the Baron already exists and your reaction does nothing to counter that."

Walker blows out an angry puff of air. He looks away for a moment then back to Laurens. "I think of this Enslin and…" He shakes his head. "I must tell him."

Walker starts walking again. Laurens watches him for a beat then follows. "And what do you mean to say?"

Walker only shakes his head. "I think…" He shakes his head again then walks faster.

They soon pass the huts and tents of McIntosh's brigade, some men in lines practicing with bayonets and others cleaning rifles. Laurens sees a group of men repairing one hut and another pair trying to remove some snow from a fire pit. Then Laurens hears the sounds of broken English and rifle fire. They come up along one of the rifle pits where men in rows aim at targets. Baron Von Steuben stands at the end of the line, monitoring their motions.

The Baron spies Walker as they near, a smile spreading across his face. He shouts, "Again!" then leaves the line to meet Walker and Laurens on the road.

Laurens salutes and Walkers does a moment later, clearly forgetting formality and regulation in his flurried state. His voice drops low as he speaks to the Baron in German, his hands up between them, stiff and jerking. Laurens sees the Baron's face flat line. His eyes slide up to Laurens over Walker's shoulder. His expression looks just as Laurens feels, resigned. Then he looks at Walker again. He puts his hands up around Walker's saying something quickly which sounds soothing despite the harsh German edge to his language.

Walker shakes his head once and pulls his hands away from the Baron. He looks around quickly then must spy what he seeks. "There."

Walker grips Laurens' arm, turning him around toward a row of huts. He nods at the Baron and marches them both toward the rows. He ducks his head into one hut then pulls Laurens and Von Steuben inside, bare cots and no fire burning. Laurens notices no personal items, possibly a recently built cabin yet to be assigned? Then Walker shuts the door and leans back against it.

"We must do something," Walker says, repeating the same in German to the Baron.

"Do what?" Laurens asks.

"Save them!"

The Baron says something at the same time that Laurens says, "Them?"

Walker nods, alternating back and forth in English and Prussian. "We cannot let Enslin and whomever his… whomever the other man may be suffer as this. Surely we can do something to stop what has occurred?"

Laurens scoffs. "You do not even know the sentence as yet nor is it our responsibility and, should any of us step in, how should that look?"

Walker huffs. Von Steuben suddenly says something with a dark laugh. Walker shakes his head and crosses his arms. "He said, it is their fault for being caught at their play," Walker repeats for Laurens.

Laurens jerks his head around toward the Baron. "'Their play?' Their 'play' is your own, your appetites are the same, sir, and they are no game!"

Von Steuben's glare deepens as Walker translates. He laughs once hard, Walker translating quickly as the Baron snaps back at Laurens. "I am quite aware of that, Lieutenant Colonel. I have lost position before, so do not tell me of games!"

"Then do not play as one!" Laurens retorts.

"Enough," Walker snaps, not bothering to translate what Laurens says. "We need not squabble. It is Enslin who needs our aid; we who can understand his position."

Laurens does not bother to deny their connection, not this far in. They all know the truth between them.

"We cannot help him," Laurens reiterates quietly. "He has been exposed, court-martialed. The matter is very clear, the regulations broken, and we are not even acquainted with him. We cannot speak to his character as a means of defense."

The Baron says something to Walker, touching his shoulder for a moment. Walker shakes his head. He replies something which makes the Baron pull his hand back.

"No," the Baron says in English.

"Yes!" Walker says, "what if it were you?" He clearly says again in Prussian then whispers, "or me…"

Laurens can see Walker is new to this; he has not lived this danger before.

"You are not in peril," Laurens says in a soft tone to Walker.

He frowns. "We are all –"

"No, the Baron is above reproach," Laurens says gesturing to the man. "Even were his behaviors proven, even if you were found out, the Baron is essential to the army. They would ignore this eccentricity in a man so much needed and you by association. You are protected."

Walker translates to the Baron who only raises his eyebrows. Laurens is correct.

"If any of us should worry it is I," Laurens says half to the ground. "I have no protection."

Walker says the same to the Baron, pacing as he does, rubbing a hand over his hair. The Baron looks at Laurens then says, "Ich würde dich beschützen."

Walker stops moving and stares at the Baron. Laurens looks back and forth between them in confusion.

"What did he say?" Walker only glances at Laurens, his expression still half-shocked. "What did he say?" Laurens repeats.

"He said, he would protect you."

Laurens blinks once at Walker then turns back to the Baron still watching him. It does not appear a trap or some amorous intent; it is simply support. Laurens only nods because he cannot think what to say. He wonders how much he does not know about this man.

"And Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton."

Laurens turns back to Walker with a frown. "What?"

"Your Hamilton should be in danger too." Walker gives Laurens a significant look.

"There is no 'my Hamilton.' You are mistaken," Laurens lies with a shake of his head. "I am alone."

The Baron scoffs once, drawing Laurens' eye. "You said not to play games," Walker repeats for the Baron.

Laurens frowns. "I certainly do not consider this a game."

"Then do not treat us as merely players," Walker says harshly. "We would all hang from the same rope!"

Laurens turns away, hands on his hips. He cannot look at Walker now. He hears Walker speaking to the Baron behind him, the German-Prussian sharp edged words. It feels like every moment he came too close loops around him now – the creak outside a closed door, a kiss where they should not have, a touch of hand with another officer nearby, a lasting look he could not explain – now where they are sounds like 'danger, danger, danger.'

Suddenly someone knocks loudly on the wood of the door. Laurens turns around, seeing the same startled expressions on Walker and the Baron's faces. Then the door opens and Hamilton is framed in the light from outside. The Baron and Walker both look at Laurens. They need not say anything for their point to be clearly made.

"Hamilton." Laurens sighs once. "Captain Walker has informed the Baron of the news we heard from Meade."

Hamilton's eyes tick to Walker then back to Laurens. "And he is well done to pass along such camp gossip."

"Hamilton, no…"

"We need not be involved in such." Hamilton holds the door open significantly.

Walker scoffs. "You cannot be serious! The Baron has said –"

"The Baron has said much in the past," Hamilton says coldly.

"Hamilton," Laurens steps closer to him, his voice low. "We are past this now. They… I do not mean to entangle us or them in this matter but… but the Baron would support us, he has said."

Hamilton frowns in confusion. "Support?"

"We are in the same place," Walker says.

The Baron says something which Walker nods at in Laurens' peripheral vision. Hamilton, however, appear to have only one object in mind at present. He grips Laurens' arm, steering him toward the door.

"I am of the understanding that the court-martial will proceed as expected and we four have no say or bearing on the matter. I wish you both good day."

"You would abandon us!" Walker says in dismay.

Laurens looks back at him. "You are not on trial, Walker, none of us. We must not act as if we are."

"Laurens," Hamilton says with a warning tone.

The Baron speaks in an obviously authoritative manner which walker repeats with some hesitation, "None of us can change the outcome of this trial nor our actions up until now. Nor should we. We cannot behave in an unreasonable matter. It shall be as it is. Nothing more."

Walker shakes his head and Hamilton glances at Laurens. He appears surprised.

"Baron…" Walker starts.

"No," The Baron says before Walker can say more. He looks at Laurens and Hamilton, "Geh jetzt."

Laurens gathers enough to understand the intent, Hamilton already turning around back out into the snow. Laurens nods at the Baron then follows Hamilton. They walk back past the rifle pit and back to the road. For several minutes neither of them speaks as they make their way toward their General's headquarters. Laurens wants to ask Hamilton what he thinks, what more might have been said after Laurens left. He wants to ask Hamilton if he is afraid.

"They did not threaten you?"

Laurens glances at Hamilton. "Quite the opposite." Hamilton gives him a look. "Walker wished to help Enslin." Hamilton makes a disbelieving noise. "And the Baron said he should support us if the worst should occur."

Hamilton glances at Laurens. "Why should he support us?"

"I suppose because he understands."

Hamilton sighs. "And yet we need not think so. It is not to involve us. Baron von Steuben must know that as well."

"You cannot say you are not concerned about…" Laurens trials off however, as Caleb Gibbs comes in sight up the opposite road back toward their headquarters.

"Sirs!" Gibbs calls as the three of them near each other. "Our Excellency has a letter from Colonel Huntington, he shall not arrive as soon as wished." Gibbs makes a tsking noise. "And small pox among his ranks."

"Distressing," Hamilton says quickly.

The three of them continue back toward headquarters, no more mention of the court-martial between them.

* * *

Laurens and Hamilton return to their work at headquarters. Meade does not bring up the court-martial again. There are but a few letters to respond to for the day. Harrison and Meade discuss some of the rifle training enacting by the Baron.

"Every day seems excessive, does it not?" Meade asks.

"Perhaps that is the point, to ensure precision and better marksmanship."

Tilghman ends up beside Laurens to review the cases of illness among the camp and those lost. As the winter has begun to lessen with spring's approach, Tilghman is hopeful for improvement.

"It is such sickness that decimates our numbers worst of all."

Hamilton sits on Laurens' other side, translating still from Du Ponceau's reports of regimental progress with drilling. Every so often, Hamilton brushes his arm against Laurens' or turns a smile in his direction. Laurens holds onto the touch, his eyes, as a lifeline against the concern and worry spinning in his mind.

It is near evening, the sun low on the horizon, when Laurens is able to make an excuse to pull Hamilton above stairs to their room.

"We must speak on this," Laurens says to Hamilton as he closes the door.

Hamilton sighs. "It is not a matter to concern us."

Laurens raises both eyebrows. "You think not?"

"It is a court-martial in our army, yes, but we have just as many pressing matters every day which lose us men – desertions, illness, death, any assignment which sends a Colonel or Major north or south. Why would you wish me to care more for this?"

"Hamilton, you cannot call a court-martial on the basis of sodomy to be something below our attention!"

Hamilton frowns. "You acquaint this man, Lieutenant Enslin, with us?"

"You do not?"

"I care for you," Hamilton says, gripping Laurens' hand with one of his own and touching Laurens' cheek with his other. "You are the most… you know my feelings and we are not just some liaison waiting to be exposed by any hut sharing Ensign."

Laurens shakes his head and pulls away from Hamilton's hands. "You cannot say such. You do not know what Enslin and his compatriot might be to one another. We are not the only men in the world who may feel more than a passing carnal desire!"

Hamilton purses his lips then sits down on the bed as Laurens crosses his arms watching him. Hamilton spreads out his hands in supplication. "It is a case of sodomy, yes, but I do not know these men. I know not their private passions or thoughts; I only know their actions and that is all the court-martial and their superiors should care about."

"And it would be the same if it were us."

Hamilton shakes his head, his expression still calm. "It will not be us. We will not be caught. I care for you enough not to be caught."

"But if we were, if it were me," Laurens insists.

"I do not want to imagine such possibilities!"

"But you must imagine them because it could happen. We are not in an ivory tower. We are in an army and Enslin is the same as us."

"Calm yourself, John…."

Laurens scoffs, the feelings of earlier in the day rushing through him now, the vision of Hamilton dragged away from him by angry and disgusted faces bright as the sun in his mind. "It is all too real an outcome, Alexander. It is happening to another now, in this camp. We may try at safety, we may think ourselves careful but how can we ever be certain?"

"You are allowing yourself a panic, Laurens, you must master this," Hamilton says with his hands up toward Laurens.

Laurens shakes his head, pacing again and his words coming faster as he plays out the worst. "I would not let you hang or have you ruined…"

"Laurens, please…"

"I should say I forced you," Laurens thinks aloud suddenly. "If they knew –"

"John! How dare you!" Hamilton jumps up and looks angry enough to smack Laurens making Laurens' mouth shut abruptly. "You would think to spare me by disgracing yourself more so in this imagining? What would you have yourself be, such a villain as that?" Hamilton breathes heavily staring at Laurens. "It would not be noble as you may think and it would be a lie!"

"I could not let you share my disgrace," Lauren says levelly.

"Oh? And were it me accused and not you, do you tell me that you should stand by and watch my punishment without putting forth yourself to share it? I know you, John!"

Laurens stares at him for a moment the nods once. "I would…"

"Yes, you would." Hamilton nods once. "This is not the sort of battle as you normally fight, Laurens. You cannot rush the enemy with sword drawn. This battle is one for which you must wait and then believe it should never come."

Laurens chuckles once as he begins to calm down. "Yes, you are right."

Hamilton smiles slowly then rubs his hands up and down Laurens' arms. "I often find myself to be so."

Laurens sighs, his fingers twisting the buttons of Hamilton's waistcoat. "I apologize. I allowed my thoughts to swirl so through the day and Walker's fears must have given some ammunition to my own concern."

"I do not deny you concern, my dear Laurens. I merely ask that you remember it is not you nor I put to a court-martial now."

"Yes."

"We may sympathize with this man, perhaps, but we need not share his fate."

"No matter what should result? If it should bring any change in regulations or greater restriction or active observation for such relations?"

Hamilton gives Laurens a wry look. "As though we could foresee or plan for such." Laurens nods in assent and Hamilton nods back. "And I should still not allow any result to keep you from me."

Laurens nods again with a soft laugh. Hamilton touches Laurens' chin then kisses him once. Laurens leans into the kiss – Hamilton's warm lips, stubble along his jaw, his fingers touching Laurens' face, familiar, and his and a gift.

"I am not without concern," Hamilton says quietly when they part, his fingers still trailing along Laurens' cheek. "But I trust you and I trust we two side by side."

"Yes," Laurens agrees, his lips close to Hamilton's still.

Laurens presses against Hamilton, stops thinking about court-martials, and kisses Hamilton. He thinks only on how fortunate his world must be to allow him this man as his own, to give him such a chance for such intoxicating kisses and feelings and to have his arms around his Alexander.

* * *

The following day a Lieutenant Colonel Aaron Burr arrives at General Washington's headquarters with the results of the court-martial of Lieutenant Enslin in hand.

They hear a knock at the front door just after nine in the morning. Harrison stands to answer the door. Meade is absent having left early with dispatches to ride to York. Gibbs escorted Mrs. Washington to the General Knox's headquarters only twenty minutes past. So, at present, only five of them reside in seat, Gibbs with them to pick up any slack.

"I do hope it is not a General as I am quite comfortable in my chair," Tilghman jokes making Gibbs huff with amusement.

Laurens hears Harrison say, 'ah yes,' and then a young man steps into view as Harrison passes toward the General's office.

Suddenly, beside him, Hamilton says, "Why, Burr!" Hamilton stands up with a grin and moves to shake the hand of the man in the doorway. "Lieutenant Colonel, it is a pleasure to see you. We have not had much opportunity of late."

"No, not many with myself on the field and your office with his Excellency."

Laurens' sees Hamilton's expression twist slightly but he merely drops Burr's hand with a quick, "quite so."

"Lieutenant Colonel," Harrison says.

Burr nods at Hamilton then follows Harrison into General Washington's office. Laurens makes a questioning face at Hamilton as he returns to his seat at the table.

"Aaron Burr," Hamilton explains, "I knew him from my school days."

Laurens nods. "Ah, another New Yorker."

Before Hamilton may comment any further, Burr appears in the doorway again with a slight lean against the door frame. "And how do you prefer your desk, Hamilton?"

Tilghman raises his eyebrows and gives Laurens a look. Laurens only glances back at Hamilton. Hamilton puts down his quill, crossing his arms. "I could certainly manage more than my words and pen should I be given such opportunity, Burr. How do you enjoy your regiment?"

"Not mine."

"Ah," Tilghman says as he stands to pull a book from the inset shelves, "but at present you command, what with Colonel Malcolm sent to New York, is that not so?"

Burr purses his lips then shrugs once.

Tilghman suddenly makes a noise of comprehension. "You must await decision on the court-martial then?" Tilghman shakes his head. "Sorry business, I am sure, to be forced to oversee."

Burr's expression falls slightly and he stands up straight. "I perform my duty as I must."

Laurens and Hamilton tense at the same time but neither one says a thing. Then Harrison returns from the General's office with a piece of paper in hand.

"Lieutenant Colonel." Harrison hands the paper to Burr. "The General has passed sentence. If you will allow us to make some copies of the court-martial report and add the sentencing into the day's general orders we can then deliver you the final pronouncement."

Burr reads over the paper for a moment then looks back up at Harrison. He hands the page back and salutes, Harrison saluting back. Burr looks at Hamilton, gives him a nod farewell then leaves by the front door.

"Hamilton?" Hamilton starts slightly at his name. "Would you mind making a copy of this?" Harrison asks.

"Yes?"

Harrison gives him a look at the questioning tone of Hamilton's reply but does not comment. He steps over to the table and places the paper down in front of Hamilton. "Then if you could send the orders to Malcolm's Regiment."

"Yes," Hamilton says again, his eyes on the page. Laurens leans over to read beside him but Hamilton begins to read some of it aloud quietly, "…for attempting to commit sodomy, with John Monhort a soldier; Secondly, for perjury…"

"John Monhort," Laurens mutters.

"…do sentence him to be dismissed the service with infamy…"

Laurens reads the words 'abhorrence and detestation.'

"Orders Lieutenant Enslin to be drummed out of Camp tomorrow morning by all the Drummers and Fifers in the Army never to return," Hamilton finishes, pushing the paper away from him an inch.

Tilghman looks at the paper, worrying his lip. "I have not witnessed a drumming out before."

"You shall tomorrow," Harrison says then passes another piece of paper to their table. "There is yet another court-martial for the general orders, a Colonel William Cook for disobedience."

Gibbs looks over Harrison's arm at the paper just before Tilghman takes it. "Acquitted?"

"I shall draw up the general orders!" Laurens says, suddenly snatching the paper from Tilghman who blinks in surprise. "If you could make the copy, Hamilton, I shall combine the two," Laurens says carefully to Hamilton who still stares at Enslin's condemnation orders.

Hamilton clears his throat, sits up straight and pulls a blank sheet of paper toward himself. "I shall as hastily as I am able."

"Aye," Gibbs says, "not something one should wish to dwell on."

"And in our army." Tilghman 'tut tuts' then shakes his head as he returns to his supply log.

Laurens and Hamilton look over at each other. Laurens wants to ask Hamilton if he is well. He wants to grip Hamilton's hand or kiss his brow. His face appears drawn, not like their calm conversation of the night before. Then they turn away from each other back to their writing. Neither their elbows on the table or their knees beneath it touch as they write.

Laurens soon finishes writing up the general orders as Hamilton writes half way through the second copy of Enslin's sentence. Laurens stands and walks around to the neighboring office, knocking once and waiting in the door. General Washington speaks with the Marquis de Lafayette and General Greene who arrived some ten minutes ago. A map lies on the table before them.

"Laurens," The General says, holding out his hand for the paper Laurens holds.

Laurens steps into the office and hands him the sheet. "General orders, sir. Two court-martial results and a plundering case.

Greene looks up with raised eyebrows. "Plundering?"

Laurens nods. "Some furniture, proven unfounded."

Greene sighs then mutters, "Such trivialities which take up our time."

As General Washington reads quickly through the report to sign off, Lafayette watches Laurens from where he stands. He glances at the General then back to Laurens. "Is something amiss?" he asks.

Laurens' eyes dart quickly to Lafayette. He clenches his teeth. "Not as such, sir." Lafayette's lips quirk slightly at Laurens' 'sir.' Lafayette may outrank Laurens but they are also good friends. Laurens continues, one eye on Washington for his reaction. "Merely there was a court-martial which led to a guilty verdict. Certainly not something to enjoy."

"From Malcolm's regiment?" Greene asks. Laurens nods. Greene's mouth pinches but he merely says, "we should be forgiving the faults in our fellow man at least."

Lafayette frowns. "Is his a crime of faults?"

"It was an accusation of sodomy," General Washington says as he signs the general orders, blowing on the page once. "He is to be drummed out tomorrow." He folds up the paper and hands it back to Laurens. "Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel. "

Laurens sees Lafayette's eyes switch to him again but Laurens watches General Washington as Laurens takes back the page. He wants to ask the General's mind; his statement to Lafayette was frank and revealed nothing. Laurens wants to know how much it should hurt or disgust his Excellency should he know.

"Laurens?" Washington asks at Laurens' linger.

Laurens shakes his head. "Thank you, sir." Then he turns and quickly leaves the office, closing the door behind him.

Laurens blows out a breath with his hand still on the doorknob. He stares at the wood floor, marks from boots and damp from the snow. He turns his head toward the front door as he hears footsteps. Hamilton picks up his hat and cloak near the door, a sealed letter in his hand. It must be the court-martial sentence to send back to Burr.

"Hamilton?"

Hamilton looks at him but does not say anything as he puts his cloak over his shoulders then walks out the front door.

* * *

When Hamilton returns from his ride to Colonel Malcom's regiment with the court-martial orders, he stops in the aide-de-camp office door, hat under his arm and cloak still on. "Laurens, might I have a word?"

Laurens puts down his pen immediately then stands to join Hamilton out in the hall. Hamilton gestures toward the back door, picking up Laurens' hat for him and moving before Laurens may answer. They step outside, Hamilton putting on his hat and handing Laurens' his quickly.

"I feel we should speak to Enslin and Monhort."

Laurens stares in surprise as he puts on his hat, the chill air already cutting through his coat; he neglected to pick up his cloak. "Speak with them?"

"Enslin is to be drummed out tomorrow then Monhort should certainly feel alone and what should Enslin's state be now knowing his fate come the morning. I do not say we should expose ourselves –"

"Hamilton," Laurens hisses, glancing at the stone building beside them.

Hamilton shuts his mouth for a moment, glances away, gathering his cloak around himself. "You said Walker wished to help them?"

"And we three decided it not a prudent course of action. What can we do?"

Hamilton sighs. "I simply…" He shakes his head. "I might find this sentence lenient, to be certain. There are worse fates he could suffer."

"Yes."

"But that he must suffer it at all, that he is to be driven out for this?" Hamilton finally looks at Laurens again, his expression pained and younger than his years. "I have seen enough injustice. I wonder at how much more I can stand."

Laurens sighs. "You shall not find an end to that Hamilton, you know that."

Hamilton rubs a hand over his face once. "Yes, but I also know there are men that would wish to lessen that." He drops his hand and smiles at Laurens. "I know of one at least."

Laurens smiles back and wants to kiss Hamilton. "And what should you imagine we could say or would be our reasons for seeing them?"

"They need to be informed of the verdict."

Laurens frowns, crossing his arms to stave off the cold. "Has that not been done?"

"Perhaps, but also perhaps we thought the duty was ours. It would not be the first instance of an order duplicated due to crossed messages."

"True."

"So?"

Laurens worries his lip for a moment. "Do you think it wise? Would there not be some possibility of suspicion?"

"You and I copied the orders from the General ourselves, Laurens," Hamilton says frankly. "We have an easy link and reason now."

A public facing link at the very least which they can use. Laurens wants to say no, that it is not worth the risk, that these men mean nothing to him or Hamilton. Yet he wonders how, if he were the one facing expulsion, would he find some comfort in such a visit of support?

"Then we should go now while we have the opening to do so."

* * *

Laurens and Hamilton march out to Conway's Brigade where the third Pennsylvania Brigade has been attached, including Colonel Malcolm's regiment. As Conway's Brigade is close to headquarters, they set out on foot through the snow. They do not talk or plan what they should say. Laurens thinks neither of them could conjure anything of quality on their walk regardless.

When they reach the rows of huts, Hamilton speaks to one of the first enlisted men he spies. It does not appear to take long or much interrogation to find the right direction.

"They are both currently being kept under guard."

Laurens frowns. "That is deemed necessary? I could imagine for Enslin, as he is to be subjected to punishment tomorrow, but Monhort as well?"

Hamilton only shakes his head. "I did not think to ask. This affair is… I know what I said to you yesterday, Laurens, but now it feels…"

"Real."

Hamilton stares at Laurens for a long moment. "We should not do this. It is not prudent. You said so. It is only a risk we need not take."

Laurens turns his head, seeing the first cabin with a Private standing guard. He feels the rush of before battle, the desire to raise his sword and fight until he reaches the other side. "We are here. I shall speak with Monhort." He looks at Hamilton again. "You, Enslin. Why should we not support these men with what we may offer even if it be only words? They think themselves alone and friendless now. As you said, enough men suffer in this world and, could we ease some distress and despair be it little, why not do so?"

Hamilton presses his lips tightly together. "I could not admire you more, my Laurens."

Laurens smiles then turns and walks down the rows of cabins. The first guarded cabin holds Enslin so Laurens matches on, not looking back at Hamilton until he reaches a turn in the rows and sees another cabin with a man standing in front of the closed door.

He salutes at he approaches. "Is Private John Monhort within?"

The Private nods and salutes back. "Yes, sir."

"I must speak with him."

The man stands aside so Laurens may open the door. He does not even ask Laurens why.

"Private Monhort?" Laurens says as he enters the cabin, putting his hat under his arm.

A small fire burns at the back, some barrels along one wall, a pallet on the floor and a stool where Monhort sits. The Private stands up abruptly as Laurens closes the door, swinging his arm up in a salute. "Sir."

"I am Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, aide-de-camp to General Washington," Laurens supplies, as they have never met.

The Private's eyes widen at the high ranking connection. He seems stuck in place, frozen with his arm up. Laurens nods once and the Private lowers his arm. Laurens hesitates as he cannot fathom how one should have such a conversation; he is less sure what conversation he wishes to have now that he stands here.

"Are you here about my court-martial, sir?" Monhort asks, sparing Laurens.

Laurens frowns. He was unaware, but not surprised, that Monhort is to face court-martial as well. "No, Private, not _your_ court-martial."

Monhort's jaw clenches just enough for Laurens to see. He understands. "Yes, sir."

"I am not here to pass further judgement," Laurens says quickly. He clears his throat. "Have you been informed of Lieutenant Enslin's sentence?"

Monhort stares at him for a moment. He schools his features well for one so young, he cannot be more than eighteen, but Laurens knows he fears danger in Laurens. "No, sir."

"He is to be drummed out of camp tomorrow morning, never to return to the army."

Monhort waits two beats then says, "That is all?"

"Yes."

Monhort looks away, his arms stiff at his sides. Laurens cannot tell if Monhort finds the fact distressing or pleasing.

After a moment, he turns back to Laurens though his eyes do not quite meet Laurens'. "Thank you, sir, was that all, sir?"

"No." Laurens watches, waiting for a tell, for something that would let him know – something that others saw in him, that must be there to see, if it is there to see. "I wished to…" Laurens does not know why he is here, why he should choose to do this but he says, "I wished to offer my support."

Monhort stares at Laurens directly in open confusion now. "Support?" He glances to the side of Laurens as if there should be someone behind him, something more, another penny to drop. Then his eyes return to Laurens. "You know the nature of my crime, sir?"

"Yes."

"I have not denied it, you know this?"

"You were not the ranking officer involved. The fault falls less upon you, does it not?"

"That is hardly the point," Monhort says with more feeling then pulls himself back with a quiet, "Sir."

Laurens feels that a sign. "No, that is not the point. The point is," Laurens drops his voice – always safe, always careful up until the moment he is not. "Some crimes are made more severe than they should be. Some actions are made criminal when none are harmed in the doing. Some things are not wholly wrong."

"Yet they are, sir," Monhort says quickly, "the army, nay society, has moralities and law and if we do not abide by that what should we have?"

Laurens wonders if it is worth his time, worth any hint of exposure, to argue. Would it gain him anything? Does he even believe what he argues? He tries not to think on the right or wrong of his own nature – of himself and Hamilton because how could they be wrong? Perhaps Monhort is not truly as Laurens is, perhaps he and Enslin were merely actions in a moment, men in war with no women to find or a hurried fling?

So, this one time, Laurens chooses retreat, "As you say, Private." He pulls himself up more to attention and puts his hat back on his head. "I wish you luck in the results of your court-martial." He salutes once and turns toward the door.

"I admired him."

Laurens stops with his hand on the latch of the door. He does not turn around.

"I could not explain such but I admired him out of many others in our regiment."

"Admired?" Laurens says, still staring at the wood of the door.

"Differently… why should that be so?" Monhort's voice sounds small. "I have never… and when Ensign Maxwell found..." He laughs once without humor. "Such a noise, and the slam of the door." He laughs once breathlessly again. "He kissed me too. They did not ask that at his court-martial. They did not ask his manner as such but he did and I feel that should count, should it not? And this the only… I cannot understand it at all, any of it, him or myself. How can I…"

Laurens finally turns around. Monhort's face is drawn, his arms shaking. He looks up from the dirt floor as Laurens turns. His expression is utterly lost.

"You must decide the path you will take. It need not be this way," Laurens, says quietly.

"This way?" Monhort repeats. He does not understand.

"I cannot see your mind, Private," Laurens says, "I can only say that you must learn yourself and then decide how you should live."

Laurens turns away again, his hand pushing down the latch because he cannot be here any longer. He will not see himself in this drowning youth, not now.

"And you?" Monhort asks quickly before Laurens can open the door. "What do you know? Do you have... is there…"

Laurens turns and looks at Monhort. He does not know what his face says, what Monhort might see, but he knows that there is something about him, something he cannot control. Monhort's expression looks, but for a moment, relieved. Then Laurens turns around, pushes the latch and trudges back out into the cold, the door falling closed behind him.

Laurens walks back down the line of cabins, soldiers standing outside of some, the guard returning to his post at Monhort's cabin behind Laurens. Laurens walks through the thin layer of snow. He thinks of himself in that cabin, in front of a trial, on the scaffold. Laurens sucks in a deep breath then he sees Hamilton at the end of the line of cabins waiting for him.

Laurens stops in front of Hamilton, the wind turning the edges of Hamilton's coat over and under again in gusts. "Enslin?"

Hamilton shakes his head. "I cannot say. He knows he is condemned. Why tell me any truth now?" He looks Laurens up and down once. "Monhort?"

Laurens grits his teeth. "He is…" Laurens shakes his head once. "He is young." Then he frowns. "What did Enslin say to make you think him untruthful?" Hamilton blows out a breath, saying nothing. Laurens presses. "Hamilton?"

Hamilton looks away for a moment then turns back to Laurens. "He said, 'I wished to fuck him, so I did.'"

Laurens raises his eyebrows. "Lord."

Hamilton nods. "I could not decide upon his sincerity at such base flippancy or not."

"Did he not trust your intentions?"

Hamilton sighs. "I cannot say. I myself find it hard to trust others under circumstances of normal society then compared with this?" He looks at Laurens again. "How should he feel now under guard and commended to censure and expulsion?"

"But why hide anything now?" Laurens insists.

Hamilton stares at Laurens for a moment then says carefully, "Why share? If any care between them were sincere, why should he give that to me? It is what he has left."

"Or there is nothing else to say," Laurens says quietly.

"Or that."

Laurens cannot decide which he should prefer to be the truth.

* * *

John Laurens stands at attention on the parade ground with the rest of the aide-de-camps the following morning. Hamilton stands on his right side staring straight ahead. A line of officers and soldiers continues past Hamilton and behind them. Several more lines of men face them on the other side of the field. All those whom are well enough and not struck down by one of the many illnesses circulating the camp are present for the morning's ceremony.

Lafayette steps up on Laurens' other side, squeezing between Laurens and Harrison. Laurens glances at him in surprise as he would have imagined Lafayette standing with his division for this event. His eyes turn to Laurens for a moment then he smiles just a fraction. Laurens cannot help but feel it as a support whether known or not.

General Washington takes one step out of the line, raises his hand and the drums begin.

Laurens turns his head with the rest of the army to see a pair of drummers marching down the middle of the assembled men followed by at least a dozen more drummers and fifers among them. Behind the lead pair and preceding the rest is who must be Lieutenant Enslin. He appears at least ten years older than Laurens himself, hair pulled back tight but simply and a hard, blank expression on his face. Laurens sees he wears his coat inside out. Beside Laurens, Hamilton stands up straighter.

The drummers march Enslin down the right of the parade ground then again down the left. Every eye follows his progress, the steady beat of the drums slamming in Laurens' chest as Enslin keeps his gaze forward. The music of the fifers sounds like alarms to Laurens, shrill like screeching birds. A few soldiers hiss when Enslin nears, others jeer, words Laurens cannot understand but the party keeps marching.

When they march Enslin up the center again, Laurens sees the set of Enslin's shoulder starting to droop, his façade of strength beginning to fail him. As the spectacle passes Laurens and Hamilton, Laurens notices Enslin's eyes snap onto Hamilton for the briefest of moments before he is marching past them toward the river. The drummers lead Enslin away from the parade ground, the sound of the drums becoming less oppressive until they stop at the bridge, the drummers in the lead parting. The drums stop with a sudden clap leaving Enslin alone to walk over the bridge in silence. When Enslin reaches the opposite side of the Schuylkill River the drummers and fifers turn back toward the main parade ground, the expulsion complete. As Laurens watches the now distant form of Enslin walking further away, he feels the back of Hamilton's hand brush against his.

* * *

Hamilton and Laurens say very little to each other once they return to headquarters. The display of the morning is soon swept away for the other aides by the return of Meade from his correspondence ride. Tilghman laughs with Meade as Harrison sorts through the letters, Harrison relating a brief summary of the drumming out, then Caleb Gibbs stops in to report on solider salaries making the mood sour once more. Laurens and Hamilton find a mutual haven in diligently writing, ledgers and books piled up between them. Neither has anything to say.

Come the afternoon, however, soon after they break for the midday meal, Captain Walker appears at the door. Laurens, by some lucky fate, having been chosen to answer the knock, is the one who meets him.

Laurens keeps his voice level with a brisk, "Captain?"

Walker holds out a sealed letter to Laurens. "For yourself and Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton."

Laurens gives Walker a wary look. "Us both?"

Walker's professional expression shifts into a small smile. "It is an invitation."

Laurens raises his eyebrows quickly in surprise. Walker salutes then turns on his heel and marches away down the stone steps again. Laurens steps back and closes the door. He looks down at the letter then breaks the seal. He unfolds the single page and reads:

 _Valley Forge, 15 March 1778_

 _Lieutenant Colonels John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton are most favorably and preferentially requested to attend dinner at the James White house, headquarters of Baron von Steuben. If they are able to please attend at the summation of their daily duties this day or at sun down, which ever should give better cause for their arrival, they would be most heartily welcome and requested to send a response soon as they are able._

 _Most sincerely,_

 _Baron Friedrich Wilhelm August Heinrich Ferdinand von Steuben_

Laurens sits down beside Hamilton in the office and passes him the letter. Hamilton gives him a questioning look. "We are invited to dinner."

Hamilton reads the letter quickly, glancing back up at Laurens as he reaches the signature. "And you think we should attend?"

"Hamilton..." Laurens sighs and says quietly. "I should think we need to now."

* * *

The house which Baron von Steuben overtook as his headquarters is very near General Washington's and on the edge of the encampment. Should any be searching for the army, Laurens thinks it a perfect spot to post a sign. Laurens and Hamilton arrive at the door, only needing to knock once before Captain Walker opens the door.

He smiles at them, his cravat somewhat loose. "Welcome, gentlemen." He gestures for them to step inside. "Dinner is already on the table. We have dismissed the servants for the evening so, while you may be forced to pour your own wine, the company shall be a far more intimate affair."

"Intimate?" Hamilton says with a tone of warning in his voice.

Walker only smiles as he closes the door and takes their hats. "In an army allowing little privacy I would think this not unwelcome?"

Laurens squeezes Hamilton's arm once as he pulls off Hamilton's cloak and then his own. Hamilton shuts his mouth and Laurens nods at Walker. "Thank you, Captain."

Walker gestures to the right and they enter the dining room, a dozen candles lit and several dishes of food in the middle of the table.

"Ah!" Laurens sees Baron von Steuben stand up from the head of the table. A small, thin dog trots toward them, sniffing at their boots. Walker makes a noise and tries to shoo the dog away. Hamilton gives Laurens an affronted look. "Welcome," the Baron continues, "sitzen."

Laurens and Hamilton move toward the nearest chairs on one side of the table, another pair set up opposite with no setting laid for the foot of the table.

"Five?" Laurens asks.

Before Walker may translate, the Baron's Prussian secretary Du Ponceau appears in an adjacent door, pulling at his cuffs. "sind wir zu essen?" He stops beside the Baron's chair then looks up. His eyes widen at seeing Hamilton and Laurens now seated at the table. "Ah, Bonjour."

"Three languages in one night," Hamilton says with a huff.

"Stop," Laurens chides.

"Sitzen," the Baron says to Du Ponceau and again to Walker.

The two men move around to the other side of the table opposite Hamilton and Laurens. As soon as they sit, the Baron holds up his glass of wine. The other four men pick up their glasses and raise to toast as well.

As the Baron speaks, Walker translates quietly for Laurens and Hamilton, "On a day of misfortune which few can share in but we, I welcome you, and toast to Lieutenant Enslin. We may not have known him but we understand him. May he use his freedom wisely and may we forgo any fear as we remain."

Walker sucks in a breath when he finishes and the Baron takes a large gulp of his wine. Laurens takes a sip of his wine as Du Ponceau drinks almost half his glass, tapping it loudly on the table. Beside him, Hamilton is the last around the table to drink to the toast. He puts down his glass, still watching the Baron.

"Why?" Hamilton asks, though Laurens is not sure whom he asks. "Why this?"

"Pourquoi pas?" Du Ponceau replies as he slides a platter with potatoes toward himself.

"After what we were forced to witness this day I am relieved to be..." Laurens almost says 'among friends.' He glances at Hamilton, still watching the Baron. "It is well to find some levity now."

"Levity after that?" Hamilton says, finally turning to Laurens. "A fate that..." He glances at the others then back to Laurens. "You asked me to think on if it should be a different person in that place."

"I did..."

"And," Walker interrupts, "it is dinner now, not a trial, yes?"

Lauren gives him a look. "We understand this intent but it does not absolve what occurred. We all have reason for apprehension."

Walker repeats for the Prussians, sitting up straighter in his chair and putting some chicken onto his plate. Then he says, "I am but weeks into this world of yours –"

"Of mine!" Laurens says indignantly.

"And now I have such things as a parade of humiliation before my eyes and you think I do understand apprehension?"

"I understand that you do not know so much as you should think you do," Hamilton snaps.

Du Ponceau scoffs, pointing at Hamilton with his fork, "Je comprends cela et vous mentez – "

"Non!" Hamilton interrupts him.

"Stop!" The Baron says with a crisp steady voice.

The young men around the table all fall silent. Hamilton is tense, his hands on the table as if he should jump up at any moment. The Baron glances at Walker and nods as he speaks again, he says, "I do not mean to endanger either of you. I mean to give you solace."

"Solace?" Hamilton repeats.

"I mean to give you an evening that is not a parade ground of shame. I understand this loss, this pain and would want you not to think of it now. I would allow you," he glances at Walker and Du Ponceau, "all of you, some place protected but it be only this evening. Do you understand?"

Laurens and Hamilton stare at the Baron. His expression is open, hopeful. He nods at the two of them. Hamilton's tension eases and Laurens sees his expression responding. Suddenly he reaches over and squeezes Laurens' hand. Laurens huffs in some measure of surprise. He did not realize how tense he was himself until Hamilton touched him.

"I have found," Walker says drawing Laurens and Hamilton's gaze, "the Baron is not what one should expect."

"No," Hamilton almost whispers, "he is not."

Laurens looks at the Baron again, his calm expression unwavering. Laurens nods, "thank you."

The Baron smiles and raises his glass again to Laurens, taking a drink. Laurens thinks it is a wonder he has never imagined of or felt before to be less alone.

The evening progresses in unexpected merriment. The five men eat a fine meal, not grand perhaps for the elite of Philadelphia, but certainly a feast by the winter standards of Valley Forge. They have wine enough to make the Baron's cheeks turn red and Du Ponceau, the youngest of their number, laughing at every other comment made. The language lag starts to become a muddle, German appearing like French, English becoming accented and all the men mixing their words into half and half sentences.

"Bon chance at such food again," Hamilton says, "but I welcome it now, très bon."

The food disappears after only an hour, Du Ponceau playing servant if only to remove the plates from the table, certainly not in washing. Hamilton breaks a glass at one point and Laurens spills some wine on the table cloth. The Baron tells a story of his first military campaign, some fond words of a fellow officer which to the unknown listener might have just been army camaraderie but to them sounds more of hidden passion.

The woods outside become dark, their candles burning low. Walker's eyes start to slip closed every few minutes, his chin propped up by his elbow on the table. The Baron touches the collar of Du Ponceau's coat every so often, a soft expression his face. Hamilton attempts some broken German, Du Ponceau laughing and asking Hamilton to repeat in French, no real sentences making it around the three of them.

Laurens sits back and watches, the open expression Hamilton's face, the warmth of the room be it the wine or the men there. He slides his hand across the table and threads his fingers with Hamilton's. Hamilton squeezes his hand and does not even turn to look back at him as he tries another German phrase. Laurens' chest clenches as he looks down at their hands on top of the table, in the light, with others around them. He turns to look at Hamilton's profile – the line of his chin, his lips, the glint of light in his eyes, his smile as he speaks, some hair fallen free from where the rest is tied back. Laurens wonders if it would be a step too far to kiss him right here at the table.

Laurens looks past Hamilton to the Baron. The Baron gazes back at him, a knowing smile on his face. Hamilton and Du Ponceau trade French and German between them. Laurens wants to say thank you, for himself, for Hamilton, for this moment. He wants the Baron to know that despite their missteps at the beginning he trusts the man now. The Baron's smile shifts into a grin. Laurens must have said it without needing to speak.

Laurens reaches out and pushes the loose hair at Hamilton's cheek up over his ear. Hamilton stops talking, surprised by the touch and looks at Laurens.

"Hello," Laurens says quietly.

Hamilton blinks at him once then smiles. "Hello."

Hamilton's eye tick down, perhaps just now noticing their joined hands. He looks up again at Laurens. He tilts his head a fraction, searching Laurens' face. "Are you well?"

Laurens smiles wide putting his free hand over their clasped hands – he does not think of court-martials or parades or fear or secrets but only of now, this one night they have to be here.

Laurens says, "Yes, Alexander, I am quite well," and holds fast to Hamilton's hand.


End file.
